


The Chronicles of You and I

by GideonGraystairs



Series: 24 Fics In 24 Days Challenge [19]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Break Up, Closeted Character, Comatose Magnus, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Trauma, Non-Chronological, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GideonGraystairs/pseuds/GideonGraystairs
Summary: "But, when I think about it, that might have been the moment I fell in love with you. Before you even knew my name, you understood me in this strange way no one else in my life ever had."Alec recounts the stories that make up their lives to the man he loves, unsure he can still hear him. But Magnus might still be listening, even to the parts he's not sure he wants to hear.





	1. Meetings and Messes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FF.net on February 21st, 2015 as part of my 24 Fics in 24 Days challenge. Evidently, I got attached and decided not to leave it there.
> 
> I have absolutely no idea what younger me was thinking in writing this. I hate writing in first-person almost as much as I hate reading it, which is why this is literally the only thing I have ever written (and I write a lot, trust me) from this point of view. Cringe. I'll post the 6 chapters I wrote back in 2015, but I'm not sure that I'll finish it because, as stated, I really fucking hate first person.
> 
> Also this is weird. Carry on.

The first time we met, I was scared.  It wasn’t a small fear, either, the kind that’s easily brushed away by a comforting kiss on the forehead or a gentle hand on the cheek.  It was an all consuming kind of fear, one that shook through my bones like an earthquake and stole the breath I so desperately needed to regain.  Or maybe it was you who stole it, really, but either way it doesn’t matter.  The point is: I was terrified.

**_Why?_ **

I’d never met anyone like you before, never seen someone so comfortable in their own skin despite the way everyone else looked at you, which was not exactly like you hung the moon and stars.  The thing was, the first time I saw you, I realized I wasn’t looking at you the same way they were.  To me, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  There was nothing that could ever come close to comparing to you, not even the brother I’d always thought was the sun.  I wasn’t disgusted by you the way they were, wasn’t shocked or even uncertain; I was completely enthralled.  And that, I think, is what really scared me the most.

I remember how busy the mall was that day.  I remember all the people that kept blocking my vision of you.  I remember the way it started to feel like they were closing in on me, suffocating me, drowning me, and how suddenly I forgot that I’d even seen you.  All I wanted to do was leave, to get away, to just be able to breathe for a second, so I shoved through the crowd and I ran.

I guess you must have seen me make a break for it because no sooner had I left the building than you were right there beside me, asking me if I was okay.  I must have nodded, I think I did, but it couldn’t have been all that convincing when I was still struggling through the panic attack I’d tried so hard not to have.  It showed on your face and in the way you reached out to touch my shoulders, to ask me again if I was really alright.  I remember that well, you know.  I remember the feel of your hands on my shoulders, even through the thick hoodie I was wearing.  I remember the sound of your voice, cutting through the anxiety attack that was taking away my ability to function.  I remember the way the light danced in your eyes, golden-green like a cat’s.  I remember you, you know.  I remember every detail.

By the time I’d finally managed to calm myself down, I’d also realized how much more beautiful you were up close and started to freak out again.  I wasn’t comfortable with myself back then, wasn’t at all okay with the idea of being something different from everybody else I knew.  It probably didn’t help that I was reserved and insecure not just because of that, but from a lifetime of living in the shadows of everyone around me.  It was a bad combination if there ever was one, right?  It was pretty much a surefire assurance that I’d never be able to come out.

**_But you did._ **

I wasn’t expecting you, you know.  You kind of crept up on me in the end there.  I mean, I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you across the mall, but I think I knew nothing would ever come of it.  I didn’t even think I’d ever say a single word to you, after all.  And then, when we did talk, or at least you did, I guess I had myself convinced it would never happen again.  I thought you’d be on your way afterward and I on mine and both of us would have forgotten it ever happened by the time we woke up the next morning.

But we didn’t.  You asked for my number after, when I’d finally managed to hold something similar to a conversation for at least a few minutes, and I gave it to you.  I didn’t think you’d call then, not really, but you surprised me again there.

You can be so impatient on occasion, you know?  God, it’s infuriating sometimes.  It wasn’t then, though, because all I could think when you texted me that night was that I felt so much less alone, so unbelievably happy that a complete stranger had taken interest in me.  Of course, then I’d started to wonder why and, well, I may have kind of thought you were a total player for awhile there who was only after sex and strung hundreds of people along, but hey— I was eighteen and no one had ever taken an interest in me before.  Could you really blame me?

**_You’re always so quick to assume._ **

We probably should have cleared that up sooner, thinking back on it.  It would have saved us a lot of trouble, don’t you think?  A lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings and— God, we were bad at this back then, weren’t we?  I think we figured it out a bit at some point, though.  We wouldn’t still be here if we weren’t.  Or, maybe we’re only still here because I can’t leave you.

**_What?_ **

Do you remember that, though?  Do you remember the day we met? I hope you do.  It’s one of the most important days of my life.

It’s important to you too, isn’t it?  I know you used to look back on it so often and wonder how different your life would be if you hadn’t run out after the boy who was having a panic attack in the middle of a public place to make sure he was alright.  I know you used to get so scared when you did that, so terrified at the prospect of never having even met me.  

I always knew when you’d been thinking about it, too, because you’d have nightmares after and wake up crying in my arms or sobbing down the phone line to me.  I remember teasing you about it and laughing and secretly being just as terrified by the what if that never was.  I don’t know why we were so scared of it if it was something we both knew would never happen.  Because we did meet that day, you know?  Why were we so caught up on what would have happened if we hadn’t?

Maybe it’s because what we were really so afraid of was losing each other.  Maybe, by picturing what would have happened if we’d never had each other in the first place, we were reminding ourselves not to let this go.  The world without an us is a scary one, don’t you think?

**_Terrifying._ **

Is there an us now?  Does this still count?  I don’t know anymore, Magnus.  I’m trying so hard to pretend like nothing’s changed, like we’re still okay, but I just don’t know if I can do it much longer.  I’m so lost, Mags.  I feel like I’m missing half of myself even though you’re right here beside me just like always.  That hasn’t changed, I’m grateful for that, but every day that passes feels like another stab at my heart.  I don’t think I can keep doing this for long, Magnus, but the thought of there being no us anymore hurts even more.  I can’t breathe again, I can feel you taking all the air away just like you did that day.  Can you feel it?  Can you hear me?

Can you please just wake up?

**_No, love. I don’t think I can._ **


	2. First Dates and Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to FF.net a very long time ago that I'm too lazy to go back and check. Enjoy.

Our first date was kind of a mess, wasn’t it?  I was a nervous wreck the whole time and you were so unsure about the entire thing.  Did you know how long it took me to work up the courage just to text you?  Did you know I stayed up all night worrying after I finally did?  I don’t think you did, it’s not something I’d ever really thought to tell you before.

**_That sounds like you._ **

But I did.  I texted you at midnight, when I was sure you’d be asleep, to give myself some time to calm down before I had to reply to whatever you said.  I didn’t sleep for even a minute after that; too busy constantly checking my phone and worrying that you wouldn’t even remember me after all.  I nearly had another panic attack, but thankfully I managed to talk myself down enough to feel like maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you didn’t answer.  I told myself I’d be okay if you didn’t, and I think I really believed it then.  Of course, I don’t now, but that’s beside the point.

When you finally did text back— at an ungodly hour of the morning, I might add— I nearly had another attack trying to work up the courage to actually open your message.  I thought you might have been asking who I was, that you didn’t remember, or that you hadn’t actually wanted me to message you.  I thought maybe you were just trying to be nice, giving me your number, and that there was no way you could actually be interested in me.  Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have been so excited over a simple ‘hey’, but I nearly dropped my phone when I read it anyway.  And, being that I had no concept of  _ tact  _ or  _ strategy  _ whatsoever, I remember immediately asking you out without even giving a greeting back.  God, that’s kind of embarrassing now.

**_I thought it was adorable._ **

I think I probably should have set the date for later, given myself time to process the fact that I was  _ going on a date _ .  But, being the naive little closet-case I was, I hadn’t even considered that I might start freaking out when I realized I had virtually no time to prepare.  I’m blaming that one on you, though, Mags.  It was your idea to meet up later that day and I expect you to take full responsibility for that— and, therefore, the fact that our first date was such a roller coaster.

**_Oh no, darling.  That one’s on the both of us._ **

I probably should have let Izzy pick out my clothes for me or something too because the second I saw you I felt supremely underdressed.  Then again, who wears a neon suit vest and dress shoes to a Starbucks?  No one but you.

I also probably shouldn’t have basically crashed into you, thinking about it now.  I should have just gathered some semblance of calm and approached you with a collected grace I in no way possessed.  I should have touched your arm, greeted you with a smile, and been the picture of elegance most people were in the movies.

But, well, I’m me.  We both know that was never going to happen.

You looked righteously surprised when I almost knocked you down and effectively nonplussed to the point where you did nothing but gape and stare for the first two minutes.  Of course, being the amazing person you are, you recovered quickly and told me it was fine, probably to stop me from becoming the stuttering mess of anxiety I was working my way towards.  I remember feeling so much less like the world was about to end when you smiled in that special way you’ve always reserved just for me.  Thanks for that, Magnus.  Things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did if you hadn’t.

I was shaking by the time we’d ordered our drinks— and your ridiculously complicated sandwich, as per the usual— and sat down at one of the tables outside.  It got to the point where I couldn’t even lift my beverage because I was so scared you’d notice and realize how weird I was.  You did anyway, though, and when you reached out to rest your hand on mine I felt this weird kind of calm I’d never had before.  You were always so good at washing my anxiety away, Magnus.  Better than anyone else in my life.

**_Must be because we’re soulmates.  Right, love?_ **

It went better after that, though I was still as awkward and hesitant as I always was back then.  I wasn’t until I accidently knocked your drink onto you that things started to take a cliff dive into the messy roller coaster we’ve always compared that first date to.  You were surprised, obviously, and a little put-out that your bright blue skinny jeans were going to have a giant stain on them, but you still smiled and told me it was okay, that it was an accident.  It didn’t keep me from starting to panic again.

You were probably a little upset that I had an anxiety attack in the middle of our date.  I don’t blame you, I know I was too.  You calmed me down again, though, and eventually we moved on to seeing a movie— which, as always, hadn’t actually been the original plan.

**_Oh, hush now.  You love when I’m spontaneous._ **

It was, in the lightest of terms, a very bad idea.  The movie was fine, sure, but it was everything else that decided to catapult into a downwards spiral.  There was the clerk who sold us the tickets and freaked me out by winking at us with a knowing smile and asking how long we’d been going out for,— God, was I really  _ that  _ closeted back then?— so much so that you had to practically drag me away while I quivered and sputtered and tried to remember how to act normal.  And then, of course, there was the fact that you decided it’d be a good idea to watch a horror movie without telling me.  Yeah, great idea, Mags.  Brilliant.

I may have been a little  _ too _ freaked out when I realized what we were watching, but only because you had given me  _ no warning whatsoever _ .  Honestly, Mags, what were you thinking?

Actually, I know what you were thinking.  You were thinking I’d cling to you like a scared little girl and grab your hand and bury my face in your shoulder.  Which I am very offended by, for your information.  I don’t care if you were right.

Thinking back on it now, the movie ended up being less of a disaster than I remember.  It was probably what happened afterwards that was the darkest moment of our date— as you like to call it.

**_It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?_ **

I honestly had no idea Jace and Izzy were going to be there, which I sincerely regret now.  I should have payed more attention when they told me where they were going beforehand.  I probably could have avoided all but running straight into them and nearly having  _ another  _ panic attack.  As it was, I didn’t, and we ended up suffering through nearly ten minutes of interrogation from my younger sibling and best friend.  I swear to God, I was going to kill them if they didn’t stop soon.  

Thankfully, they seemed to get the hint after I stuttered a total lie back to them for the billionth time, as they left pretty quickly afterwards.  Of course, not before my sister got your number— which, by the way, I am still mad at you for accepting.

**_Sweetheart, it’s been years. Make like Elsa and let it go._ **

Yeah, so maybe the mugger was actually the darkest moment.  I still firmly believe it was in no way my fault that I’d had years of athletic training and quick reflexes.  It was  _ so  _ not my fault, Mags.  Anyone would have flipped him over their heads and slammed him onto the ground a little harder than strictly necessary.  Anyone.  It’s not my fault.  Also, it doesn’t make me a ninja, so shut up about that already.

We were okay after that, though, weren’t we?  You laughed it all off until I was laughing with you and drove me home despite the fact that it was an hour out of your way.  I should have kept my own car, rather than just letting Izzy drop me off and take it on her own adventure, so I wouldn’t have felt so much like I was imposing.

I thought you were going to kiss me then, standing on my porch like a total cliché.  I was so nervous I nearly tripped up the stairs.  Yeah, that would have been a great conclusion to our date.  You’d have never let me live it down.

**_You know me so well._ **

You didn’t— kiss me, that is.  It was only when you smiled and said goodnight before getting back into your car and driving away that I realized I’d wanted you to.  Of course, then I freaked out again because I’d never actually kissed anyone before— Kaelie in first grade doesn’t count, she forced that on me— and you are so ridiculously attractive, Magnus, that it’s not even fair.  Plus you were so much more experienced than I was back then and I was still firmly in denial over the fact that anyone could actually like me.

So, maybe it wasn’t a total disaster.  You laughed and smiled and we held hands and I clung onto you through the movie and the panic attack, the confrontation and the mugger did nothing to ruin that.  They probably helped, actually, because I highly doubt you’d ever had a date go like that before.  And, knowing you, if it’d been a normal date, you’d have gotten bored.  You’ve always been more one for the crazy things in life.

Case in point: Barcelona.  But that’s a story for another time.  I hope I’ll never get to it, though, Mags.  I hope you wake up before then.  I hope— God, I hope— that things will be okay and back to how they used to be, back then, by the time I get there, even though I know we have a lot of issues to sort out now.  Please, Magnus, just promise me you’ll wake up before then?

**_I’m sorry, love.  I can’t make that promise._ **


	3. Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because even back then I was incapable of writing anything that wasn't angsty af.

I used to wonder if you ever thought about the little things.  I used to question whether they ever even crossed your mind.  Because I think it’s all the little things that really count the most, you know?  Especially when it comes to us.

But I know you, probably better than anyone, which is why I’d always thought you brushed those off like they didn’t matter as soon as they were over.  You’ve always been one for big gestures and great dramatics, Mags, and I guess that’s why I figured they were all you ever deemed as important.

Still, I’m going out on a limb here and hoping I’ve been wrong this whole time.  I mean, you’ve always remembered the stupid things like my favourite pair of shoes or how many scoops of sugar Isabelle takes in her coffee.  Hell, you even remembered the brand of Camille’s hair dye, though I suspect that might be because you were looking to use it for yourself.

**_That… might be true._ **

So, anyway, I’m hoping you’ll remember this.  It was— God, it would have been years ago now.  We were walking down the street early in the afternoon, hand in hand, and I remember I was pretty proud of that, back then, you know.  I would never have been able do that with anyone before you came along.

But, yeah, we were walking down the street just like any other day— heading back to your apartment, if I remember right.  Halfway there, you spotted something you were dying to have, as per usual, in a shop window and decided it’d be a good idea to drag me in with you when you went to look.  I probably put up a fight about it for a second then, too.  You’re always doing that, though, so by now I’ve simply gotten used to it.  But, then? I was probably read to kill you and burn the body in some abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere.  Totally could have gotten away with it, too.

I must have given up eventually, accepting the fact that if you wanted something you got it, because somehow we ended up at the till with an overly friendly cashier ringing up your purchase— which, for the record, I am 200% certain you didn’t really need, whatever it was.  You were digging through your ridiculous,  _ neon _ , zebra-print wallet— the one I couldn’t go within ten feet of without dying of mortification— and cursing the fact that you’d forgotten to bring any cash at the time.

It wasn’t anything big, like I said.  Just the cashier’s eyes shifting down to where our hands were still linked tightly together and rising back up with curiosity painted into them.  It was nothing more than the overwhelming urge to pull my hand out of yours, as I usually would, and therefore something I know you couldn’t possibly have felt.  Although, I’m sure if you’d seen her looking it would have been exactly what you would have expected me to do.

**_You’re right about that one._ **

I didn’t, though.  Instead, I squeezed your hand even tighter and met her gaze with an admittedly forced smile, which she returned fully, to my great relief.  I didn’t think you’d noticed, really, until you squeezed back, grinned like the world had suddenly just gotten a thousand times brighter, and pulled me out of the shop with an overly affectionate and borderline possessive peck on the cheek.  I’m about ninety percent sure you’d forgotten about it by the time we got back to your apartment, though.

But, when I think about it, that might have been the moment I fell in love with you.  It was the fact that you didn’t say anything, that you knew it would mean so much more if you didn’t.  It was the way you just  _ understood _ .  You’ve always been like that, Mags.  I think, apart from the flamboyant self-confidence and unabashed flirtatiousness, that  _ that’s _ what drew me to you so much in the first place.  Before you even knew my name, you understood me in this strange way no one else in my life ever had.

And the thing is, you still liked me even though you could see all the parts of me, both good and bad, so clearly.  I think that’s probably what made me a better person when I was with you.  You saw my flaws and you didn’t turn away from me because of them.  You didn’t just look past them either, though, and I think that’s why it was so easy for me to forget them all when I was with you, back at the start.

See, with you I wasn’t the kid with anxiety so bad just going to school everyday caused hours-long panic attacks or the way-too-overprotective older brother who freaked over every guy his sister said hey to.  I wasn’t the boy who was always so polite, so kind, so patient, or the studious guy with the perfect grades despite the fact that he only took online courses and therefore didn’t really have much of a teacher for anything.  I was just  _ me _ .  And I think that’s why I loved you.

So maybe they don’t sound like such little things at all really when I’m sitting here regurgitating them back to you and putting way too much meaning into everything.  But I know they are to you, Mags.  I know you probably have no fucking clue in the world what I’m talking about. **** Granted, that might be because you’re in a coma at the moment and lacking any basic brain function, but I digress.

**_I take offense to that._ **

This is where we’ve always differed the most, you know.  I care about the little things; you don’t.  I care about the names of the people you’ve been with, the things you say in your sleep, the first time you ever touched my arm.  They’ve always meant so much more to me than the grand sweeping gestures I know you’re so fond of.  Barcelona was great, Mags.  So was the key, the first morning, that third date.  They were fun and they were you and I have nothing against them, I just—

I wish you could have understood, even just once, that they weren’t all there was.  But I guess it might be too late for that now, right?  It’s okay, I loved you then just the way you are, even if you don’t put the same weight into the small things as I always have.

**_Loved?_ **


	4. Dinners and Disappointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look. Even more angst. Who saw that coming?

I’m trying here, I am.  I just—

Nevermind.  Do you remember the day you met my family? Or, well, I guess just my parents, considering that awkward run in with my sister and best friend on our first date kind of counted as a meeting of sorts there.  I’m pretty sure you were more nervous than I was, which was seriously saying something back then.

We’d been dating for— what, a month? Maybe two?  It felt like so much longer and so much shorter all at once; knowing everything about you like I’d had years to learn it and feeling like the time was flying by in a hurricane of blurry happiness and new excitement.

It was Isabelle’s idea, actually, not mine.  I’m guessing you didn’t know that.  Basically, she’d been texting you a lot and all, but seriously wanted to meet you in person for a second time and have you be introduced as my boyfriend this go round.  It was important to her, I think, to know that I wasn’t ashamed of who I was anymore.  The problem, of course, was that I still kind of was.

**_You never told me that._ **

But, anyway, she insisted that I have you over for dinner one night, even if I just told our parents that you were a friend or something— which, really? Like that wouldn’t have been suspicious, me having a  _ friend _ who wasn’t Jace —so eventually I just agreed, despite how much I really didn’t want to.  I mean, it was hard to look forward to an awkward dinner with my boyfriend and the parents who didn’t even know I was gay.

But you were so happy when I asked you if you’d be okay with it that I didn’t have the heart to tell you I had no intentions of introducing you as what you really were to me.  So I just smiled and kissed you and told you not to wear those horrendous pink jeans.  Which, okay, maybe you should have. Just to see the look on my father’s face.

**_It would’ve been priceless._ **

You showed up right on time, which was surprising considering your insistence on arriving at least twenty minutes late to any event that didn’t involve me waiting awkwardly outside an unfamiliar place for you. (I probably never told you how much I appreciated your care when it came to the things that would indefinitely trigger my anxiety, but I did.) My mother loved you the second she saw you walk through the door, too, and I wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or happy when she started to fawn over you incessantly like she was an eight year old girl and you were the hippest doll in the toy store. And if that’s not a pretty ridiculous visual for you, I’m not sure what is.

**_Ah, yes. I can see it clearly._ **

You looked so happy, Mags, and I had to excuse myself to go into the bathroom and cry when I introduced you as my friend and your face fell.  I wasn’t ready— I knew that —but both you and Isabelle expected me to be and I hated myself so much for disappointing you like that.  I realize now that that was wrong and that you both should’ve been supporting and encouraging me rather than trying to force me out of the closet against my will.

**_Alec…_ **

Sorry, ignore that.

So I went and hid in the bathroom after I introduced you to my family and sat you down at the table while we waited for my mother to finish cooking the dinner of lasagna and enough side dishes to feed a large army.  I remember trying so,  _ so _ , hard to fight back the tears because I was scared someone would be able to tell I’d been crying.  It didn’t work, of course, and I ended up sobbing on the bathroom floor for a good ten minutes before Isabelle came to see why I’d abandoned my guest for so long.

Of course, you didn’t know about this part until now. Well, technically you probably don’t know even now since I’m about eighty percent sure you can’t hear me in the state you’re in. But, anyway, that happened.  She knocked on the door and asked if I was alright and I lied and came out five minutes later and everything moved along, just like always. It wasn’t anything new, really.

Dinner was torture for me. I watched as my mother fawned over you, the charismatic boy who for some unknown reason had decided to befriend her loser of a son, and I tried so hard to pull myself together, to work up the courage to come out right then and there. But it didn’t work, and I was left fighting back tears of frustration while avoiding your gaze because I couldn’t face the disappointment I knew I’d see there.

**_I wouldn’t have been disappointed in you, Alec._ **

You know, I think Isabelle was probably the worst part of the whole thing. She kept giving me these imploring looks all through the meal, jerking her head to both you and my parents while her eyes narrowed dangerously every time I looked away in shame. She’s my sister and I love her, I always have, and I think that’s probably what made it feel so horrible.

She’d always been there for me, you know? She was the one I turned to whenever I had a problem, the one who’s shoulder I cried myself to sleep on, and she was the one who was always holding my hand through the bad things and pushing me into the good. And this— well, it was so painful to know I was disappointing her, too. It felt like I was just throwing it all back in her face, even though that most definitely was not what was happening there.

I remember my mother asking partway through how exactly we knew each other. I remember the way you hesitated, glancing over at me with this desperate look in your eye like you fully expected me to just come out right at that moment and spill everything. I also remember just biting my lip and looking away.

**_Alec._ **

You told her the truth, sort of; that we ran into each other at the mall and hit it off instantly— which I’m not certain was actually the case, but whatever —and then exchanged numbers and decided to hang out again some other time. Which, obviously, wasn’t the whole truth.

We hadn’t “run into each other”. I’d had a panic attack like the pathetic loser I was who couldn’t even go to the mall without having a complete and very  _ public _ meltdown and you’d chased after me like a perfect knight in glittering armor. I stuttered and stumbled stupidly through our brief conversation while you remained as clever and charismatic and  _ poised _ as ever. Honestly, what the hell did you even see in me?

**_Stop it. You know you’re everything to me._ **

But, anyway, you even lied your way through our first “hang out” when my mother asked about it. You told her we’d just caught some action flick and chilled for a bit and I wanted to throw up at how obviously upset you were that you couldn’t call it what it had been: a date. That you couldn’t mention how much time we’d actually spent together or how we’d held hands or anything else that I know at least I thought was important to us. Maybe it wasn’t to you, though. It doesn’t matter.

I don’t know why you didn’t tell her about the mugger or the coffee shop, it’s not like those were secrets. It’s not like they were flashing neon signs saying “Look here, Alec’s gay! And we’re actually dating!”. Maybe you just didn’t want to mention how much I’d fucked up with the panic attack and the supposed ‘ _ ninja _ ’ moves on that poor guy. It’s not like my mother didn’t already know how much of an idiot I was, though.

**_Alec, darling._ **

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty shitty evening, didn’t it? The dinner part wasn’t even the worst of it.

No, the worst was probably when my mother decided to move us all— minus my workaholic father who retreated back to his office the second he’d finished eating —into the living room so she could continue to get to know you, since you were the only person in my life apart from Jace that I’d ever invited over. It was awkward and uncomfortable and made me hate myself even more than I already did.

Do you know why?

**_No. I don’t want to._ **

It was because you wouldn’t even sit next to me. You took the seat next to Isabelle, basically as far away from me as you could get, and you didn’t so much as look at me when you did it. I remember swallowing back the lump in my throat, sucking in a sharp breath to help fight off both the oncoming anxiety attack and the tears, and curling in on myself like that would make the rest of the world disappear. It didn’t, of course, and I basically only managed to make myself feel even worse than I already did.

I think my mom could tell something was off from the start, looking back on it. She smiled at me half an hour in and it was so sweet, so loving and sad and comforting that I know she had to have been able to tell that I wasn’t okay. I think she kind of always knew things about me before I even knew them myself, you know? Like how she’d known I was gay before I was even eight years old or how she’d been the one to realize my absolute panic over perfectly safe, everyday things was far from normal. Of course, I didn’t know the former until later when we’d had the chance to sit down and actually fully discuss my sexual orientation, but that’s not the point.

The  _ point _ is I was so incredibly grateful for that smile that I almost let myself cry anyway. I think maybe I kind of felt like I didn’t deserve the amount of love I could see in her eyes, like she had nothing to be proud of me for and therefore I’d supremely disappointed her just like everybody else in the room.

**_Please, Alec. Change the subject?_ **

Of course, I know now that none of that is or was ever true. Still, eighteen year old me most certainly hadn’t realized that quite yet.

It was getting late, the windows nothing more than giant black squares with distorted blurs of the outside world echoing faintly therein. We were all still sitting in the living room, though Isabelle had moved to play with Max on the floor and I’d shifted closer to my mother in an attempt to gather as much comfort from her as I possibly could. I thought she was done interrogating you by then, since I couldn’t fathom what else she could possibly have to ask you. I was half wrong, since she most definitely did have something else to ask. Except, the question wasn’t for you.

“Alec,” I remember her saying as she turned away from you to face me with a gentle smile still on her face. Her voice was gentle and sweet, happy and full of the love I’d always associated with her despite my beliefs that I was the worst son she could’ve asked for. “Sweetie. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating?”

It caught me so off guard that I didn’t really react until a moment later, when the question was hanging heavy in the air between your gaping jaw and my widening eyes. But oh, God. When it hit me, it hit me hard.

I broke down. I started crying, curling in on myself a thousand times tighter than I had earlier and burying my face in my knees. I didn’t say anything, couldn’t make my vocal cords produce any sound that wasn’t a sob, and all I wanted to do was to go back to a few days before and decide not to even ask you to come to dinner. I wanted to take this all back, to make it go away.

Or maybe I just wanted to go away myself.

**_Alec, stop. I don’t want to hear this._ **

There were hands running gently along my back and my mother’s voice murmuring comforting things in my ear as I continued to cry. I didn’t stop, not even when the couch sank down on my other side and a new pair of hands were running through my hair. That was you, Mags. It only made me cry harder.

I think that was probably the moment I realized how deep I’d sunk into all this, how far in over my head I was. Because I knew I was already in love with you by then, which had probably only happened so fast due to the fact that you were the only person who’d ever even remotely taken an interest in me. I loved you and I would’ve given anything for you and that—

You know, I think that’s what the problem was. I would’ve killed myself for you, Magnus. And that isn’t an exaggeration. You were probably all I was living for back then and I was twisting myself to fit around you and tearing myself apart so I could stitch myself back together as the perfect person for you.

And  _ that _ ? That wasn’t healthy.

That wasn’t okay.

**_Alexander._ **

I—

Nevermind, forget I said any of that.

I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I should probably just go home already and get some sleep, return one of Isabelle’s sixty-eight missed calls or Jace’s fourteen texts. I just— I don’t want to go back to a bright apartment full of memories of the both of us when I know you’re not going to be there. I don’t want to curl up and go to sleep in that stupid queen size bed with the stupid yellow sheets and have stupid dreams of losing you entirely, even though I kind of already have.

I’m scared, Mags.

I’m sitting here in an obnoxiously well-lit hospital room and I’m watching the line on that heart monitor repeat the same steady pattern over and over again and all I can think is that yeah, I don’t have you right now when you’re lying there in a coma the doctor says you might take months to wake up from. But I didn’t really have you before, either, did I?

**_Alexander, don’t_ **

You’re practically brain-dead at the moment because you’re an idiotic fucking hero and you love me as much as you always have and  _ all I can think  _ is that I was going to lose you anyway, I’d just thought it’d be to how hard this has been lately and not to a heap of metal that was supposed to be designed for safety.

The doctor says you’ll probably wake up within the next month and I know I should be happy.

I—

**_Alec?_ **

I know it’s wrong that instead I’m hoping you’ll stay asleep even just a little bit longer. I feel like I need more time to...

_ Think, _ I guess.


	5. The End Is The Beginning Is The End

Sorry about yesterday, I was just… tired. Forget about it. Or don’t, I guess, since it’s not like you could hear me anyway.

**_That’s not true._ **

Whatever, moving on.

I remember the first time you told me you loved me. It wasn’t like I’d thought it’d be— tingly and warm and happy and all of that bullshit you hear from the teenage girls fangirling over romance novels like they actually hold some semblance to real life.

And okay, yeah, I’m being bitter. So what? It’d be weird if I were suddenly a fondly nostalgic optimist, wouldn’t it?

**_I think terrifying is the word you’re looking for._ **

We were both angry and hurt and you were so goddamn spiteful, just like you always were, and I should have just rolled over and let you think you’d won the age-old argument, just like I always did. I  _ should have _ , but I was tired and I could feel my heart crumbling away with every single word that left your cursed lips and it was suddenly not enough to just let you stop yourself with the knowledge that you’d gotten what you wanted. Because I didn’t want you to think you’d won again, to think it was okay for you to be so forceful and ignorant when it came to my ‘coming out’. I didn’t want you to think it was okay to not even try to understand, to not even listen to a word I said on the matter, to go behind my back to my sister whenever it came up like you two were the team and not  _ us _ .

So instead of rolling over and licking my wounds once you’d backed off with that stupid satisfied smirk on your face that always disappeared the next day when nothing actually changed, I planted my foot and folded my arms and told you right where you could shove your pressuring bullshit.

Which, uh, didn’t really go over the way I’d expected it to.

**_Why can’t you tell me a happy story this time?_ **

You seethed, the rage curling right through your green eyes like a storm. And the thing is, I sort of knew it was coming the second your posture shifted. I knew before you even opened your mouth, knew it in that way I always seemed to know exactly what you were going to do regardless of whether or not I expected it.

“I love you,” I remember you snapping, like it was a curse or something vile burning away at your mouth. I recoiled, feeling the words hit like the daggers they were and stab straight through my already damaged heart. Neither of us said anything after us, me too busy biting my lips and rushing to grab my bag off the desk and you too busy clenching your hands against the counter. I left, the door slamming shut behind me with a piercing bang that seemed to reflect our entire relationship quite well.

See, the thing is, I wasn’t even really hurt. I was upset, sure, and maybe a little angry that you would say it like that— but deep down all I felt was this tragic sense of ‘ _ of course’ _ .  _ Of course _ you were like that.  _ Of course _ love was something corrupt and full of negativity.  _ Of course _ our relationship turned out to be toxic.  _ Of course _ someone else had gotten my hopes up and let them fall crashing to the concrete at my feet.

Of course.

**_Oh, hell._ **

It’s hard to say what happened right after that. I remember walking, my feet hitting pavement with rhythmic thuds I found almost comforting, and I remember the way the air tasted like smog and rain. I remember running into someone and apologizing dazedly and I remember somehow ending up seated on a pier with my feet hanging inches away from the dark water below. But it’s like it was all a dream, like it happened through this fog of inactuality and maybe none of it was even real at all.

I sat there for a while, I know that for sure. I sat and I stared down at the water and I wondered why I felt like I was already drowning when I hadn’t even touched it.

The thing is, though, I knew.

**_I know._ **

Let’s talk about when my ‘ _ coming out _ ’ of sorts actually happened, since I believe that was probably a pretty pivotal moment in our relationship. We’d been ‘together’ for nearly half a year by then— granted we were technically broken up during this time —and I’d known you were starting to get more and more frustrated with every day that went by without me jumping up to declare to my father and best friend, and apparently the whole town, that I’m as straight as a fucking circle. It was the reason we’d broken up, after all.

**_Language._ **

I don’t know if you’d started noticing how increasingly angry I was getting over it and the fact that everyone around me seemed to think I  _ needed _ to ‘come out’ like it was somehow a requirement of being gay, but I think you must have. At least, you started to hide your frustration with me a lot better, though it never really vanished completely. It was still hard to be around you though, despite the fact that somewhere along the line we’d agreed to remain friends.

It’s so stupid, isn’t it? How anyone on the LGBT spectrum is expected to come out at some point in their life, like you’re not really a part of the whole community if you don’t think it’s important. Why should we have to come out? Straight, cis-gendered people don’t, do they? Why can’t we just live our lives and not have to worry about everyone having a neat little label for us?

But anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, I was getting seriously ticked off and you were getting seriously annoyed and well, that wasn’t exactly a good combination now was it? We were like a ticking time-bomb.

Turns out, it was set to explode on Christmas Eve during our family dinner. You weren’t there, much to my mother’s irritating concern, but my sister sure was. She kept shooting me looks all through the night, looks that said you’d told her we’d broken up and she greatly disapproved of the part I’d had to play in it. Which— yeah, not gonna lie —sort of hurt a whole fucking lot. Why the hell was she favouring you over her own brother?

But that’s beside the point. Or, well, not entirely, but back to the story.

Dinner was drawing to a close, my mom having just gone to put dessert in the oven as we all sat around the table with nothing to do. She returned, taking her own seat at the end opposite my father, and this strange kind of silence settled over the room. Then, in a satisfied voice, my sister decided to cut through it.

“Why didn’t Magnus come?” she asked, giving me a superior look.

I scowled at her, wanting nothing more than to strangle her for being such an insensitive bitch and basically trying to either out me right then and there or cause my mother to become even more concerned about my lack of friends. Which, I should say, was not something I was particularly sad about. Friends were assholes who stabbed you in the back first chance they got. Jace was the only friend I needed, and if I was being honest he was more my brother than my  _ friend _ .

“He couldn’t make it,” I snapped back, causing Jace to raise his eyebrows at me from his seat beside her and both my parents to shoot us confused looks.

My mother must have sensed how close I was to killing the little brat because she cut in with a nervous tone and an uncertain smile. “That’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll make the next big dinner, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isabelle offered speculatively. I felt myself holding my breath, waiting for what I already knew was coming. “Ex-boyfriends generally don’t like to swing by for dinner with the asshole who broke their heart.”

**_You never told me this before._ **

The room went dead just seconds after my mother’s fork hit her plate with a clang. I’d have thought I would have frozen in terror or even just shock, but for some strange reason I found myself letting loose the breath I’d held captive and leaning back in my chair instead. My sister took one look around the table and everything sarcastic and satisfied left her expression, turning instead to the terrified look I should have had on myself. No one knew what to say.

It was my mother who figured it out first, clearing her throat as she turned to her daughter with an expectant furrow to her eyebrows. “Isabelle,” she began. “Would you care to explain?”

_ No _ , said the look on my sister’s face, _ I would care very much not to _ .

“I, uh— I was joking,” she tried, a failed attempt to cover up her own mistake. She shot me a terrified look, like somehow we were suddenly in this together, and I remember just raising an eyebrow back and folding my arms across my chest. It was a clear display of ‘ _ you won’t be getting any help from me _ ’.

“Isabelle,” my father cut in sternly, though his eyes were tracking me instead. The teenager in question darted her eyes around the table, from where Jace sat at her side with a wary expression to where Max sat beside  _ me  _ with the most confused look I’d ever seen him wear. She looked even more terrified than the time Mom caught her sneaking in after a party, booze on her breath and skirt way too short.

“Dad,” she pleaded, turning to him with wide brown eyes like she was his darling little girl and he could never deny her anything. He wasn’t having it, though, and carefully set down his utensils with a business face stretched perfectly across his hard features.

I rolled my eyes, leaning forward in my chair again. “Fine,” I cut in, giving her a defiant look before turning to each of my parents in turn. “Mom, Dad. Magnus and I were dating. Now we’re not. End of story.”

**_I hope not._ **

My mother blinked, eyes shooting to my father and then my sister before falling back to me. My father’s face was much more unreadable, steely gaze fixed hard on my face. Then, as if a spell were suddenly broken, Mom shook her head and straightened her fork back out.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, if that’s all,” and then stood to go fetch the desert. My father nodded sternly, gathering everyone’s plates before moving to follow her. They both returned two minutes later, Mom carrying a plate of raspberry pie and Dad trailing after her with his hand on her back like a doting husband. I almost laughed at the look on my sister’s face, feeling so vindictively satisfied I didn’t have room to worry about what had just happened. Besides, it didn’t look my parents gave a rat’s ass about it, so why should I?

And yeah, I was going to freak out about it the next day when I walked into the kitchen and my father was at the table sipping his coffee, but at that moment I couldn’t have cared less. So it was probably a good thing we broke up when and how we did, because if we hadn’t I most likely wouldn’t have come out to my family— or Jace —for another three years.

Maybe we’re better when we’re not together, you know? Like maybe our supposed love isn’t as good a thing as you always make it out to be. Maybe it makes us stronger when it’s gone.

**_No._ **

Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow if I decide to come by. Izzy wants to have lunch with Jace and I while she’s in town for the weekend, so maybe not. You might be hearing from her soon, though, since she never knows when to leave well enough. Plus you and her are a team, so yeah, it’s basically guaranteed she’ll be by to see you while she’s here.

You know—

Nevermind. See you. Or not, I don’t know.


	6. Let's Play The Blame Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to FF.net on April 2nd, 2016.
> 
> The last of the chapters I'd posted over there, but I actually found most of another one sitting in my drafts. I may finish and post it. Maybe. I'm listening to angsty James Arthur as I transfer these over and it feels very fitting.

The first time we got back together, I was so blinded by this insistent urge to be with you that I didn’t even consider why we’d broken up in the first place. I missed you so much that it hurt, lying awake at night with my parents down the hall knowing everything I’d always been too terrified to tell them, and I remember thinking we could work again just because the main thing we’d been fighting about was no longer an issue.

I was so fucking stupid, honestly. Stupid and young and so convinced that love could never be a bad thing.

Obviously, I know better now.

The thing is, Magnus, that it didn’t really matter what we were fighting about. It mattered that we were fighting and frustrated and you always made me feel like I was less than you were just because I didn’t have the same level of self-confidence or fearlessness. The thing we were fighting over was gone, sure, but the fact that we’d fought about it at all would never change.

It still hasn’t.

**_Alec, don’t start this again._ **

I believe it was the weekend when I finally gave in and called you, asked you out to the coffee shop on main street under the pretense of wanting to talk. In all honesty, I didn’t really want to talk. I wanted to sit there and trace your features until my vision blurred, to remember how beautiful and effervescent you’ve always been, and I wanted my throat to fill with all the things I’d never tell you and, maybe, I also just wanted to look into your eyes and see if that love you’d claimed for me was still there.

It was, I noticed as you slid into the seat across from me with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. It was buried under layers of caution and irritation, sure, but it was still there nonetheless. I almost forgot how to breathe at the sight of it.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked me, like the only reason you’d come was your inherent need to know absolutely everything. Like you’d come more out of curiosity than courtesy, like it wasn’t the fact that it was  _ me _ who’d asked you here, but rather the fact that someone had said they had something to tell you.

I was inexperienced and naive, though, and I wouldn’t notice any of this until I sat reflecting back on it nearly a full year later. Instead, I smiled tiredly, picked at the styrofoam cup warming the palms of my hands, and looked away when your dazzling green eyes became far too blinding to meet. “Izzy outed me. To my parents, I mean. I told Jace the other day, too.”

The grin you gave could have lit up an entire city block or the highest skyscraper ever built. I remember shifting uncomfortably, frowning at your happiness over the fact that I’d been forced out of the closet by someone who was supposed to be on my side. It wasn’t enough to deter me from wanting you, though, and in the end I brushed off the feeling of dissatisfaction to reach out and take your hand.

It didn’t feel the same. It felt like the hand of someone I didn’t belong with, but still craved desperately. It felt like cheating, like lying, like ignoring the problem until it went away, but I was so painfully infatuated with the idea of someone so far above me actually liking me that I pushed everything aside just to keep hold of your hand. Pathetic, I know.

**_These stories of yours are beginning to all sound the same._ **

“That’s great,” you told me, and part of me wanted to tell you how I’d spent the entire day after crying and hadn’t spoken to my sister in nearly two weeks. Part of me wanted to say that it wasn’t great, it was awful and painful and it felt like someone had carved a butter knife through my chest and torn my heart to shreds with the blunt edge of the blade.

**_Kind of how I’m feeling right now, since we’re sharing._ **

I didn’t. The part of me that still loved the way my fingers looked entwined with yours won out and I traced my thumb over the back of your hand. It was a gentle, loving gesture, that I probably meant at the time.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

I shouldn’t have. God, I shouldn’t have. I had absolutely nothing to be sorry for and yet here I was apologizing to the one person who should have been the most contrite.

That’s the thing about us, Magnus. We say things we don’t mean instead of the things we do and we pretend they’re enough to make everything okay.

This is just what we do. We pretend we’re okay and I pretend to be okay and we pretend and pretend until it doesn’t really feel like pretending anymore, only it is - it’s always just pretending until one of us forgets to pretend they left the lights on by accident and suddenly it’s dark and we can’t pretend anymore because -

Because it’s so much harder to lie with just words.

I can’t tell you I love you and make you believe it unless I’m reaching for your arm or brushing my lips across your skin. I can’t tell you I don’t hate the things you do to me unless you’re doing them, unless you’re holding me and touching me and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I can’t tell you I want to be with you unless you’re so close I can feel your breath mixed with my breath and see the desperate look in your eyes every time I’m just about to leave you.

**_I’m almost wishing you wouldn’t say anything to me during these little visits of yours, now._ **

We got back together that day. Of course, you know that already. We kissed and you held my hand and said you loved me and I pushed the bile back down my throat when I realized it was my turn to say the same.

I still didn’t talk to Isabelle, not for another two months. Even now, we barely speak. We make small talk and she pretends to know the first thing about me and you two run around behind my back sharing everything under the sun and I act like she’s still my baby sister even though I hate her sometimes. I act like she isn’t the reason we’re in this mess, the reason I’m a mess, the reason everything is falling apart and I haven’t done a single thing to fix it.

We wouldn’t have gotten back together if it weren’t for her. I wouldn’t have tumbled in so deep I’d never be able to crawl back out. You wouldn’t be in this goddamn hospital bed with a boy by your side who doesn’t even love you anymore.

**_Don’t say that._ **

Maybe we’d have been happy. Maybe you’d have someone here who’d hold your hand and tell you happy stories about all your best times together. Maybe I’d have a sister and a boyfriend who doesn’t hurt me with everything he does or maybe I’d be happily single without the stress of an unhealthy relationship tearing me apart from the inside out. Maybe everything would have really been okay.

I’m sorry.

I love my sister, I do. I just-

She’s partly to blame for all of this and I can’t pretend she isn’t. I’m tired of pretending.

I’m tired of all of this, Magnus.


	7. Almost Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ending?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first part of the story and was written about a year or so ago, but I only just unearthed it from my mess of drafts. The next half, should it be written, will follow a different format (re: point of view) and be written in a more classic style. This story so far has been one of the most weirdly styled things I've ever written. Partly because I absolutely loathe first person so this is the only fic from that POV.

You had exactly six minutes and forty-three seconds, they told me.

It wasn't enough to move. It wasn't enough to stop it. It wasn’t enough to do anything but brace for impact and realize you were probably going to die.

It wasn't enough.

You shouldn't have done it, Mags. And I shouldn't keep holding it over you that you did because, really, how could I ever expect anything else from you?

They say you could've avoided this, could've stayed awake and conscious and not fallen into this coma. But stupid heroic you just couldn't resist, could you?

If you'd hit it straight on, they tell me you would've gotten away with little more than a few broken bones and an ugly scar or two. If you hadn't hit the brakes at the last minute, hadn't turned the wheel to put yourself into the line of fire instead of the both of us, you would have been okay. If you hadn't made a stupid split second decision and shielded me by putting yourself even more in harm's way, then we could have been together right now.

Because as much as I like to pretend you're still here and that I'm not just talking to a mindless body in a sterile hospital, I know you're not. And you know what the worst part about that is, Magnus? I don't know if you ever will be again.

I like to think we would have been okay if you hadn't done why you did. I like to think we would have patched ourselves up and laughed over the scars years down the line, hand in hand with rings on our fingers and the two point five kids you’ve always wanted. I like to think we would have had that, Magnus, I really do, and I'm sorry for the fact that I've always been too much of a realist to really believe that.

Because that’s the better story, isn’t it? The one where the only thing that’s come between us is something as classic as a car crash. As simple. The better story is the one where I sit at your hospital bed in tears for months, holding your hand and loving you back to life, until you wake up and I fall all over myself trying to tell you how much you mean to me. How much you’ve always meant. The better story is the one where you wake up and I’m crying tears of joy because it’s all I’ve been hoping for for months. The better story is the one where this fixes things, where it brings us closer together, where we find the beauty in each other out of the horror of our situation.

But the better story isn’t necessarily the true one.

The truth is, we were struggling. We had so many issues festering between us, unaddressed because communication happened to be one of them. We fought all the time and spent more time being angry and hurt by each other than we did being happy and in love. We pretended we were great and managed to convince even ourselves of it in the bright light of day, but after dark, when all the lights went out and left us with nothing to blind ourselves to how bad things were, it was painfully evident that we were so far from it we'd forgotten what it meant.

We both knew it. We both saw it. Neither of us said anything about it.

I was going to. Did you know that, Mags? I doubt it.

**_Don’t do this. Whatever you’re about to do, about to say. Please don’t do it._ **

I had a plan, or at least as much of one as I could bring myself to form. I was going to do it when we got back from the party — you know, after the drive we never finished — almost as soon as we'd stepped in the door. I knew the second I opened my mouth you'd shoot me down and try to stop the conversation from happening because that's what you always did whenever it was something serious, but I also knew that if I didn't do it then, it would only get worse.

It had been getting worse for years. Forever. Since the day we’d met, the day we went on our first date, the day we broke up. Since we got back together and pretended all the reasons we’d broken up in the first place weren’t there anymore.

I love you, Magnus. You know that. That was never up for question. But I couldn't spend the rest of my life like that and I knew you shouldn't have to either, no matter how much you might try to. Or want to, because God knows you were never the kind of person who could let go of something, no matter how bad it was for you. It’s the reason you’ve never successfully quit smoking.

I thought it would be hard. I knew it would be. I'd prepared for the lump in my throat trying to keep me from saying the words and I'd planned a thousand ways around the dropping of my stomach, the tightening of my chest. I could never say the words, though, not even in the mirror when I was trying to get it right. I could barely stand to imagine the whole scenario for more than a second.

I’m not sure why. It wasn’t that I was afraid to be without you, afraid of what I knew had to happen. Maybe I was just afraid of hurting you, as I knew it would, and thought for a moment that it was better to hurt you a little bit every day than a lot all at once. That it was less devastating to slowly pick each other apart than to tear each other down in one fell swoop.

But I think we both saw it coming, didn't we? Because no matter how much we've always loved each other, it hasn't been enough for a long time now. Or maybe it never was and we were just too blind to see it before.

You were just too blind. I think I’ve always seen it. I’ve always known, in the back of my mind, that this wasn’t going to work. That, if it did, it was going to end up killing us both. You were blind and I was good at ignoring things until they went away or demanded my attention, so we spent years sitting next to each other with matching wounds, infected and festering through all of our limbs, until eventually we’d be forced to decide whether to amputate parts of ourselves or each other. I always chose myself, and you always chose me, too.

I was going to breakup with you. But I bet you'd guessed that already, hadn't you?

**_Please, please, please, Alec. Please, if you haven’t been able to hear me all this time, then please just listen to me now._ **

Do you know how many hours I've spent sitting here beside what used to be you, mulling that thought over in my head? I don't. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. It's been months, Magnus. Did you know that?

**_Wake up, Magnus. Please, please, fucking please. Come on._ **

I'm sorry, I am. This isn't how I wanted things to go. I mean, of course it isn't, who would want this? I just… I guess maybe I kept holding out for something to change, or get better, or suddenly stop hurting so much, but it hasn’t. I can't do this anymore, Magnus.

I can't sit here and pretend you're still inside that mangled body they've marked with your name. I can't sit here and tell them I'm your boyfriend when I was so close to being just another face from your past, so close to never having come here at all. I can't pretend it's all okay anymore, Mags. I can't. I won't.

I love you so much I can't breathe around it sometimes. I don't want you to think I don't. But this-

I have to, I'm sorry.

**_Fuck, no._ **

Because you had six minutes and forty-three seconds from the moment the car crashed to the moment you lost consciousness and it wasn't enough to fix us.

I love you, Magnus, but there's only so much I can live with.

If you ever wake up, come find me. Or don’t, I guess. I’m not sure it would change anything if you did.


End file.
